Secret Value of Zero, The (11 page)

Sterling chuckled, shaking his head. “Impressive. Some thought that you weren’t that bright. I knew that they were wrong.” He leaned onto the desk. “You have been watching us, haven’t you?”

Meke’s jaw tightened at the mention of the ones who thought her stupid. She was not surprised. Most people saw the inability to talk as a sign of slowness. A Zero shone on her hands for a reason. Still, it stung all the same.
 

“Yes. I don’t see a problem.” Meke said, hoping Sterling didn’t see her hands tremble.
 

“There’s at least one problem with you as a soldier. Your deafness. How will you communicate with the other soldiers?”
 

Meke bit her cheek to keep herself from rolling her eyes. It always came back to this one thing. Prosperon boxed and labeled her a Zero because of her deafness. She became a patient because of her deafness. Sterling would have her poked and prodded because of her deafness. Her parents had wanted something better for her, as did Meke.

“Soldiers already use hand signals. I use the same thing, but everyday. We’d communicate just fine.”

Sterling chuckled. “Well, at least you’ve thought this through.” He frowned. “Now, I’m not agreeing to anything. But how about the role of a lookout?”

Meke wouldn’t take any diluted versions of a real soldier. “No. I’ll train as a real soldier. I’ll carry weapons. I’ll fight just like anyone.”

“You’d be safer that way. We’d have someone next to you. You’d help by telling people about what you see.”

Meke shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. I can’t see forever. What if I’m too far away to see what’s coming on the other side? If I do it, I do it right.”

Meke regretted the word if. She had meant to portray absolute confidence, but it was too late, now. Meke glanced at Arya. Her cheeks tight, Arya’s lips moved in stops and starts. Still, Arya spoke Meke’s words.
 

Sterling tapped his fingers on his desk. His fingers moved in a flurry. The motion made the points of Sterling’s star twitch. After a long while, Sterling looked at Meke.
 

“You’re more useful to us in a doctor’s room than you are out in the field. Safer, too.”

Meke had to tell herself that Sterling hadn’t made his decision yet. “Maybe. You don’t know what the doctors can figure out.”

“How would we know when you refuse to even give us a blood sample?”

“But you said that I had choices. Reasonable freedom. I want to do this, and I’ll do it right.”

Sterling sat back, staring at the wall. Meke sagged back into her chair, feeling small and defeated. She tried to tell herself that she had tried and that was what mattered.

“What about the Elite Forces?”

“I’ll be able to defend myself,” Meke said, her spine straightening.
 

Sterling grunted and then stared at the wall some more. Finally, he said, “Well, I think it’s an inefficient choice, but it’s a choice,” he paused. “You can be a soldier, but only if you meet my conditions.”

Meke’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“You’ll train with Trove Anderson. You’ll only become a soldier at his say-so. I trust that man implicitly.”

Meke couldn't stop her mouth from falling open. No, she told herself, it didn’t matter who trained her, as long as she was trained. She just didn’t know why they wanted to use Trove. Perhaps she should feel flattered.
 

Meke nodded. What choice did she have?

“It’ll take months. Are you truly prepared for this? It’s hard work.”

Meke tried not to feel insulted. “Of course I am.”

“Fine. Trove will contact you soon about the training schedule.” He waved Meke away.

Meke knew a dismissal when she saw it. As the door closed behind her, she felt Sterling slump back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The defeated posture didn’t suit him at all.

Meke wondered why Sterling had let her do it at all. He told the truth about one thing: she was more useful to them in a lab than in the field.
 

Standing in the middle of the hallway, Meke felt tired, so tired that she wanted to curl up and fall asleep.

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Meke slowed as she felt Arya approaching. She turned around, leaned against the wall. Arya blinked, then shook off whatever daze that had overtaken her. The small, delicate woman peered up at Meke, squinting. “So, this is your decision, uh?”
 

“Yes,” Meke said.

Arya stared at the wall behind Meke. She paused before she raised her hands to speak. “Why this? It’s—a damn fool thing to do. It’s dangerous. You could help out so much more in the doctor’s office. You’d be
safe
.”

Meke looked at her hands. “I don’t want to be safe, Arya. I want to do things.”

Arya rubbed her forehead, cradling one of her elbows. “You would do things in the doctor’s office. You’d help us understand what’s happening to you.”

“But that’s not something that I did. It’s just—” Meke shook her head, “—something that someone did to me. Something I didn’t earn.”

“Your parents wanted you to be safe. They didn’t want you to become a soldier,” Arya said.

“No, they wanted something better for me.”

Arya stared at Meke, her eyes wide. “You could unlock the secrets of the human body. That’s something amazing. You can’t throw that away.”

“I didn’t do that. Doctor Ball did. Plus, you have Cecil,” Meke said, squeezing her arms tight.
 

A sad smile appeared on Arya’s face. “He’s not doing so well with his sense. It’s too overwhelming for him. It’s eating him up. He can’t eat or sleep.”

Meke pressed her lips together, turning them into an invisible line. Her insides felt rubbed raw at the thought of Cecil flailing under the burden of this
thing
, as Meke stood tall. It made her wonder what would happen to her. Meke felt fine, but would she always?

A thought slithered into her:
maybe you would be better off staying here and staying safe
. Meke didn’t know what would happen to her, if she’d simply fall apart like Cecil. Meke squeezed her fists. That wasn’t right—she needed to be something better than a trembling, crouching thing in a corner as she had been at ten. She would stand tall and proud and people would see it.
 

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Sterling has decided,” Arya said. “He wants to gain your trust, you know. He gave in entirely too easily.”

Meke blinked. The idea that Sterling cared about what she thought did her credit, but Meke didn’t understand it. Meke wondered why he bothered.

“Well,” Arya inhaled deeply, expanding her chest, “it’s done. Good luck with the training. But—well, keep yourself safe.”

Meke watched Arya’s small body turn the corridor, walk down the hall and through the Nerve Center. It felt good to have someone want her safe, warm even. Meke almost hated herself for that pinched, worried look on Arya’s face. I’m doing the right thing, Meke almost convinced herself.
 

MEKE’S HEAD spun as a rough hand nudged her out of peaceful sleep. Her eyelids protested, seemingly stuck in their old position. Her arms felt heavy and sluggish. This time, it was no mere nudge. Two large hands jostled her out of her drowsiness. Her eyelids flew open.

Trove stood at the foot of her bed, face blank. He threw some black clothing on her bed. Heat flushed Meke’s cheeks. She felt lazy already. It was far earlier than she usually rose. Idleness bred late rising times.
 

Trove raised his two fingers and his lips formed the shape, “Two minutes, training room.”
 

Meke sighed and nodded. As he left, Meke scrambled out of the bed. She put on her clothes as quickly as she could. She had to laugh. Down to the hand motions, it was like she was back in the institution. Now, however, she would do something real. The Zero on her hands would fade into insignificance.
 

Smiling, Meke jogged to the training room. She barely noticed people’s glances. Meke was early. When she arrived, she was surprised to see Gladys there, standing next to Trove. Gladys smiled anxiously when she saw Meke. Her cheeks, usually pink, were now grayish-white.
 

“What are you doing here?” Meke asked.

 
“I’ll translate for Trove. They needed someone, so I offered,”
 

Meke nodded. She needed to communicate with Trove somehow. Hand signals wouldn’t suffice for this. A small part of her said that Gladys wasn’t good enough. Conversations lagged and halted because of Gladys’ unskilled hands. Meke sighed. She couldn’t do any better. Gladys stood there, fidgeting and trembling.
 

“Are you all right?” Meke asked.

Gladys bobbed her head. “Oh, I’m fine. Just fine. I’m good. No, great.”

Meke squinted at the woman whose face remained slightly gray. If Gladys wanted to do this, Meke wouldn’t stop her. Meke patted Gladys’ soft shoulders, hoping the woman’s strange anxiety would fade soon. Meke could feel every single tremor coursing through her body.
 

Trove stood to the side, his arms crossed, his mouth set in a hard line. Gone was the relaxed man that Meke had seen. Now he was a tense, angry man. No wonder Gladys was nervous, even Meke herself felt a bit shaky at the sight of him.

Trove threw a staff, and out of mindless reflex, Meke caught it in the air, but not before flinching. The staff was about her height. The weight surprised her; she had to grip it so it wouldn’t fall.
 

“You’ll start with the staff,” Trove said, walking around her.

For some foolish reason, Meke wished that she could see the old Trove once again, the one who had been kind to her on the mountains and here. This man didn’t appreciate having to train a Zero—even Meke could understand that. A Fiver soldier training a Zero sounded ludicrous even to her. But there was no other way, silly or not, of bettering herself. Meke needed to prove something to everyone. This was the best way she knew how. If Trove didn’t appreciate that, there was nothing Meke could do about it.
 

Trove nudged her feet into position, angling her arms, adjusting her grip. He circled around her, brows furrowed. He had her hold the position for an unnaturally long time. Trove pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Let’s practice some blocks,” he said.

Trove had Meke practice blocking thrusts from all directions: up, down, left and right. Meke’s hands sweat as her right hand gripped the front of the staff. This pose still felt strange, holding the staff as if she was carrying it. Her arms ached from the awkward strangeness of the pose.
 

After what felt like hours, Trove rose to his feet. “Okay. That’s it for today.”

Meke let the staff drop to the floor, grateful for the rest. She had let her body slide into complacency since she entered the Barracks. “Great. I’ll see you here at the same time tomorrow.” Meke said. Trove raised his eyebrows but said nothing, then left.

Gladys wiped her hands on her dress, exhaling. “What’s wrong with him?” Gladys asked.

Meke shrugged. “How would I know? He probably doesn’t want to be here.”

Gladys frowned but didn’t say anything.
 

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Meke stood in the middle of the bare training room. Stifling her yawn, she took a staff from the wall. Regardless of her protesting internal clock, Meke started practicing. She righted her feet, gripped the staff and started the thrusts.
 

During the first few weeks, Meke’s muscles had felt stiff and unyielding, resisting the morning exercises. Now, Meke had schooled them into pliancy. Meke stretched her neck before the next thrust, enjoying her muscles’ responsiveness.
 

She had been at the staff for weeks now. She felt ready to do something else. Trove’s corrections grew more minor every day. He frowned at the end of every training session. Meke told herself that he was just being stubborn, but smatterings of doubt remained. What if she was truly a Zero? Perhaps hard work wouldn’t do much other than embarrass her.
 

She felt Gladys walking up behind her and raised a hand in greeting. As Meke turned, she saw Gladys’ grimace. “It’s too strange.” Gladys’ hands waved in the vicinity of Meke’s head.

Meke blushed. Her sense had slipped her mind. Somehow, her sight had become an indivisible part of her. Life before now seemed so limited, so dull. Her world was now full of shapes, colors, information.
 

“I forgot,” Meke said.

“Forgot that you see behind you?” Gladys asked, eyes wide.

Trove strode into the room, making Gladys jump. He nodded at both women, more of a head jerk than anything else.
 

“Good. Practice makes perfect,” Trove said. Despite his words, his face showed no cheer. Meke wanted to snort. No amount of practice seemed good enough for him.
 

He grabbed another staff, flipping it around. “Let’s see how you do with a real opponent,” he said.

Meke swallowed. She hoped that she would do this right. She placed one foot forward and twisted her body to hold the staff in its proper position.
 

He swung the staff in a downward arc toward her knees. Meke angled the staff to block Trove’s blow. Trove’s staff stopped just short of hers.
 

Gladys clasped her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. Meke was too busy with her hold to attend to Gladys. Perhaps she’s just the nervous type, Meke thought.
 

Trove withdrew, placing the staff next to him and nodded. “Good reflexes, but your grip needs work,” Trove said. With a firm, impersonal touch, he adjusted Meke’s hold on the stick until he was satisfied. Meke tried not to flinch from his touch, but she couldn’t help it. Others’ touch still unnerved her.
 

“This time, I’ll actually hit you,” Trove said. Meke felt Gladys cringe beside her.

When Trove struck, the staff’s roughness jarred against her palm. Her arms shook with the exertion of keeping the staff aloft. This strike was no play strike. It fell hard and heavy on hers. Trove didn’t think her a delicate, fragile thing. Meke didn’t know whether to be pleased or nervous.